


Power

by tunglo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunglo/pseuds/tunglo
Summary: Knowledge was power, Tom learned that at an early age.





	Power

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makiyakinabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makiyakinabe/gifts).



Knowledge was power, Tom learned that at an early age. If he couldn’t make the other children like him - couldn’t make anyone love him - he could still ensure that they all feared him.

He could do things that others couldn’t. Could wish bad luck upon those who sneered at him, and sit back and watch as those idle daydreams became reality. He could force animals to do his bidding, and the staff to cringe away from his touch, expressions neutral but real terror flashing in their eyes.

None of it compared to the subtle thrill of acquiring information that he wasn’t meant to know. That nobody was meant to know. The cruel rumours and ugly gossip, and the havoc a few words could wreck on another’s life, like the matron whose husband threw out on the street on account of her philandering, or the trustee who was found hanging from his ceiling, unable to live with the shame and the indignity of his family and colleagues learning the truth of his nature.

When Tom exchanged the misery of the orphanage for the wonder of Hogwarts, he only became more determined to hone the skill.

He listened, and he watched, and he didn’t need to use violence or threats to be given the most comfortable seat or the choicest sweets by his fellow students. He only needed to imply, only needed to suggest, and those who would have told tales of the boy behind the façade he showed to his professors fell into line without question.

Followed him without complaint, not any that they would dare voice at least, and the old fools who ought to have known better never cared to look beneath the surface. They were complacent, stupid, and it was scarcely a challenge at all to glean all he could from the likes of Horace Slughorn and Armando Dippet. To their eyes he was exactly what he wanted them to see, and he cultivated sympathetic looks and charming smiles in a sliver of mirror behind his bed curtains, increasingly aware that they could be as powerful a weapon as his wand, in the right circumstances.

Because as he grew older there remained only one man unconvinced by the face he showed to the world. One man who watched him too closely, studied him too intently, and it was after the idiot Hagrid had taken the fall for his own actions that Tom first began to consider that perhaps there was more to the scrutiny than suspicion.

He tested his theory, tentative, and looked away when his gaze met Dumbledore’s across the crowded raucousness of the Great Hall. Glanced back up, coy, and this time it was Dumbledore who looked away, a guilty touch of colour in his cheeks. Tom smiled to himself, just the barest hint of it showing on his lips, and set about bringing a new plan to fruition.

It was easy, so very easy, because all he had to do was loiter behind the rest of his classmates after Transfiguration. Simply had to look up at the man through dark lashes and ask, earnestly, if there was any hope at all of Dumbledore going over some of the finer points of their homework with him, though of course Tom understood that he must be so awfully busy.

He stood too close when the man acquiesced. Played dumb and played innocent, and stretched out the tutoring sessions past the point any half competent teacher could have believed them necessary. Dumbledore was governed by his own weakness though, unable to control his own base instincts, and Tom took advantage at every turn, until he was beyond certain he had the upper hand in the situation.

Until, finally, he laid a hand on the older man’s knee, his tone carefully calculated as he thanked Dumbledore for all the help he had given him.

“Th-think nothing of it,” Dumbledore managed, clearly struggling for composure, and Tom graciously accepted a lemon drop from the paper bag he had himself presented as a token of his gratitude. He held Dumbledore’s gaze as he brought it to his lips, swiping his tongue across the smooth surface before sucking it into his mouth.

Dumbledore made a cut off sound at that, helpless and desperate, and Tom leaned in close - Dumbledore still sat in the chair behind his desk, and Tom’s hands curling around the arm rests as he stood in front of him.

“I want to say thank you,” he murmured, “You taught me that, Albus - I hope you don’t mind me calling you Albus. You told me that manners are important. That one good turn deserves another.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Dumbledore breathed, the physical evidence of what he wanted from Tom visible even from the brief glance Tom swept over him, “I don’t know how you think it will benefit you.”

Even now, even here, Dumbledore clung to his mistrust and his judgement, and Tom pushed his hand into the space between them. Let it brush against the man, through the fabric of his robes, and felt his own pulse race in victory at the way Dumbledore’s eyes fell shut. He was losing the internal battle, Tom could tell. There was no way Dumbledore would send him away, not now they had come this far.

“You must see that this isn’t proper,” Dumbledore tried, one last feeble attempt to do the right thing, and Tom let the pressure of his hand grow firmer. That was it, that was the breaking point, and Dumbledore’s hand came up to cup his face, even as he was pulled into a kiss that tasted of the sharpness of lemon and left Tom himself flushed and breathless.

He didn’t yet know what benefit this encounter would be to him, that was the truth of it. There was too much potential, so many possibilities, and he pushed into Dumbledore’s lap, hands clutching at him frantically. It was a secret they would both share, at the very least, and secrets - like knowledge - meant power.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


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